CHAPTER THREE.
25 FELT LIKE FLYING

" Peter was still staring at her. There was the sunset, and then there was the glorious Amelia Sóng. "

THE cafeteria was buzzing as always but before Amelia had the chance to follow Gemma to the line, something against her leg hummed. She dug in her jeans pocket and fetched out her phone, raising an eyebrow at the call. Leaning over closer to Gemma she told her she'd be back and answered the call, wandering out of the cafeteria. "Hello."

"Is this the wrong time? Are you busy?" Ken Sóng was always considerate.

Amelia furrowed her eyebrows. "Not at the moment, no. But I am in school if that's what you mean."

"Ah, I'm sorry."

"No, it's fine." She continued walking, not sure where she was going. "What is it?"

"I wanted to ask if you were still on the Academic Decathalon team in your school? It's still a thing right?"

This confused her. "Yeah, Dad. Why?"

"Well, with the finals approaching in D.C . . . ?"

"You want to me visit," she said it like a statement. She knew, of course, that they wanted her to spend more time with them in this second life.

Ken Sóng was refreshingly honest. "Naturally."

Amelia sighed. "I'll see," she said, not really in the mood for seeing.

"Okay. And call more often Mia, we miss you."

Amelia said, "Okay," then hung up. It wasn't that she didn't love her parents, or didn't enjoy their company, or never wanted to see them again. It was that they had lost one daughter and almost lost their second one, too, so they were incredibly protective of her. She was not really interested in giving them an opportunity to host another we're gonna convince you to stay dinner.

As she brought her phone down and shoved it in her pocket, she realized where she had walked up to. The library. Huh. She had been meaning to re-read THE SONG OF ACHILLES but her copy was in D.C. She would just borrow from here. Libraries had always been one of Amelia's favorite places. You could always be someone else here. There were so many masks that it felt like Halloween. And as soon as the masks came on, the truth came out. It was a conundrum, really. The moment you allowed someone to be somebody else, they became their truest selves.

She made her way to the classics shelves and ran her finger over the spines until she found the book. Sliding it out, Amelia turned to go, only to pause when she caught something at the corner of her eyes. More like someone. A smile settled itself on her face and she slowly made her way to him. "Hey, Parker," she regarded him and he looked up, caught off guard.

"A-Amelia?"

She settled in the seat beside him. "So?" she prompted, eyebrows raised pointedly.

Confused, he repeated, "So?"

"How long have you liked Liz?"

This Peter had not prepared for. He struggled, though his mind didn't seem very keen on helping him out. And with Amelia's large, inquisitive doe eyes staring him in his face, he didn't expect less. Absentmindedly, he said, "Um, about a year?"

"A year!" Amelia laughed quietly. This was a library after all. "Peter!"

"Yeah."

"And?"

"And what?"

"And what do you like about her?" Amelia lightly punched his shoulder playfully. "Come on, Parker."

"It's just . . ." Peter started and shook his head. "Why are you suddenly being so nice to me?

"Because you were nice to me last night," she shrugged. "And it's not like I have ever been mean to you."

"No," he nodded sarcastically. "No, you've never talked to me before." It sounded almost like an accusation.

Amelia made an offended face. "That's not true. You've never talked to me before. I thought you hated me or something."

Peter shook his head, genuinely curious. "Why would I hate you?"

Amelia's lips parted as if she wanted to answer but then didn't. She simply said, "I don't know. So, Liz. What do you like about her?"

Peter knew she was deflecting. He narrowed his eyes but didn't say anything. He let her deflect. "Well, um, she's nice and intelligent. What, um, what are you doing tonight?" Peter almost webbed his mouth shut. He had just thought about asking that, not actually meant to say it out loud. But when did it ever go his way?

Confused, Amelia asked, "What?"

He stumbled over his words. "Uh, I-I-I just ─ I was just asking ─ "

"Parker," Amelia interrupted his red-faced rambling. She was smiling in amusement and Peter thought he'd lost all his dignity. She shook her head and asked, "Uh, wanna hang out tonight?"

Some of Peter's dignity returned. He shrugged nonchalantly and said, "Well, if you insist."

She laughed but was shushed by the librarian. Sheepishly, she continued her laugh in silence, before pointing to the book in front of Peter. "What are you doing? French revolution?" She raised her eyebrows and glanced up at him, "Need a little help?"

"Please," Peter insisted. "Physics and Math I can do. 1700s France under Robespierre's reign of terror I cannot."

Amelia chuckled. "It's actually really interesting," she said. "See ─ " And while she launched into a lengthy explanation about nationalism in France, Peter kept staring at her with an awestruck smile.

THE sky was pink when Peter heard the honking outside his apartment. He looked out the window to find Amelia's crappy car and grinned. With a quick goodbye to Aunt May, he thundered down the steps. As he slid into the passenger seat, he greeted Amelia a little breathlessly, "Hey."

She smiled her brilliant smile. "Hi."

Looking around in the car as he strapped his seatbelt on, Peter asked, "Where are we going?"

There was something twinkling in Amelia's eyes. "Someplace magical," she said.

Again, Peter felt the loudness of the car. It wasn't an intrusive kind of loudness, but more of an embracing kind. It buzzed your mind and freed it from thoughts that had previously been plaguing you. As the road rushed beneath them, Amelia glanced at Peter and grinned. She leaned forward and pressed a button on the console.

Peter blinked before the breeze started caressing his cheeks, the cold nipping and biting at his skin. The sunroof above had opened and the sunset was glorious over them. Peter glanced at Amelia and she nodded encouragingly. Peter undid the seatbelt and stood, his upper body emerging out, his flannel itching to slip off his arms and get carried away by the rushing wind. He extended both his arms as Amelia accelerated down, chasing the setting sun.

"Everyone, the one and only, Peter Parker!" Amelia cheered. Peter whooped and she laughed loudly, one arm propped on the driver's side door, the window rolled fully down. She wondered if he could actually hear over so much sound, of the car's engine, of the wind rushing, of her pulse throbbing. Peter's heart was hammering. He was riding in a car with someone he barely knew. His senses were in hyper-driver, dialed to eleven. He had no idea who Amelia was. But since the beginning, he'd had this feeling with her. This feeling of completer and utter vulnerability and trust. Maybe it was founded over the conversation with a drunk version of her, but he'd heard that people talked the most truth when they were intoxicated.

And right now, that's how he felt. Intoxicated. The breeze was cold but the night was warm, all orange sunsets and dry dust in eyes. Dust? Were they even in the city any longer? He knew this road, though. He sat back down. "Are we going to Connecticut?" Amelia only smiled and turned on the music player. AC/DC was on and Peter said, "Oh, I love Led Zepplin!" Amelia laughed.

After doing karaoke of a few songs together, Peter had embarrassed himself enough for the day. He stood up again, poking his head out of the sunroof, and grinned. Blood rushed to his cheeks, coloring them rose, a contrast against the meek weather. He felt Amelia stare and extended his arms outwards, opening them up like wings, his eyes closed. And in this moment, Peter was free. He was not Peter Parker, a high-schooler trying very hard to keep his grades up. He was not Spider-Man, friendly neighborhood super-hero of New York who was desperately waiting for a call from Tony Stark about another gig. Peter was a bird whose frantic wings seemed to find the first brush of cold air and unfurled in glory, manifesting his very soul that wanted to fly away. He threw his head back, minutely being pulled to reality when he heard Amelia hum to the radio's tune before disappearing again.

A laugh bubbled. Exhilarated. Delighted. Peter was intoxicated on the damp air of the town that his lungs knew all too well and he wondered, How? Why? Why now? It was something about being with Amelia, a stranger. A sense of unknowingness, of treading new waters that he had yearned for so long. He ─

He felt a tug on his hand and was pulled back inside. With a start, he fell back in the seat. Amelia must've pulled him down for she was now staring at him, an unexplainable look on her face before the car lurched to a stop. 

In the distance, Peter could see the last reminder of a sunset, the blood-shedding sky, and the blue strokes of the night like a balm over the wound. He heard Amelia's door open so he copied, stepping out of the vehicle and on the dusty side road somewhere between New York and Connecticut. He didn't even know how far either of them were in their respective directions.

Amelia sighed in contentment. She could never stop herself from being filled with a sense of purpose whenever she was here. She wandered forward on the dusty unpaved walk, and Peter thought of interrupting her, of telling her not to walk too close to the edge. But he couldn't, he couldn't bring himself to erase that expression off her face. Of reverie and awe and wonder.

And now Amelia stood like only Amelia would ─ arms extended out like Peter's had been moments ago, wings unfurling to fly. She stood at the edge of the cliff, her hair moving as the wind did. Peter thought her and the rock seemed one entity ─ a ship and its figurehead.

Amelia had her eyes closed and she breathed. She breathed and she lived. She smiled. The wind moved around and about her, finding its way like she wasn't even there. Maybe her foot would slip and she would fall and she wouldn't be here. Or maybe falling, she'd catch a branch sticking out of the cliffside and flail her legs, the air still wouldn't care. Maybe her hands would sweat and her fingers would cave in, and, once again, she would fall. The air would still act like she wasn't there. Maybe she wasn't. Maybe she had died in that car crash and had been a ghost all along. Wouldn't that be a lark? Would she know, though, if she were a ghost? Maybe ghosts hold on too long because of love. Amelia had love, too. Reasons to hold on.

She and Monika had known each other through thick and thin, but mostly thick, because, she wouldn't lie, they were blessed. They were privileged and she tried to downplay it every chance she got. But she had a passion, one that required certain things, like maps, like globes, like telescopes. Like helicopters. Her fingers fisted and her arms dropped to her side. The only reason she had come here was because of Monika. Boarding schools after boarding schools, Monika had a reputation. Amelia had assured Monika's mother that she would go with her this time. She would take care of her.

There they had met Gemma and the missing piece of the puzzle had been completed.

Monika balanced out Gemma: Loud and quiet, violence and kindness, antipathy and romanticism. The Sóng sisters had once stood opposites as one. Constance had been polite, humble, grounded, she dreamed, she wanted, she survived. Amelia, well, she couldn't describe herself.

Peter was still staring at her. There was the sunset, and then there was the glorious Amelia Sóng. As if sensing, she glanced at him. He averted his gaze to the scenery. There was a serenity in the way he stood, hands to his side, no worry in his posture, gazing up at the celestial bodies. The way he held himself was the oddest thing about him. He would, one moment, let himself talk for hours, ramble on with passion and yearning and feeling of . . . something. She didn't know what it was. Hell, Peter didn't even know what it was. The next moment though, he would resign himself to his thoughts. She could only assume that he wasn't as kind to himself as she would have liked him to be.

Peter glanced at her again. She smiled and gestured to the road with her chin. "I got into an accident here, when I was twelve. Our car crashed. My sister was driving us to New York." Amelia paused and Peter noticed her quivering lip. Instinctively he took a step closer but then caught himself. She turned to him, closer now. Although he wasn't too tall himself, Amelia just reached his nose.

She was looking at him and he couldn't look away, as if her eyes were honeytraps.

"She died here."

"Amelia, I'm so sorry." Peter didn't know what to do. He'd only known her for mere hours, he was not going to hug her. Only thing he kept thinking over and over was: Why did she bring me here?

"I know you might be wondering why I brought you here." Peter didn't say anything, though she read his expression. "It's the only place I feel like myself. The self I was before the accident. I guess I'm trying to hold on. I try to talk to her here sometimes. But, mostly, I come here when I want to get away."

"And you wanted to get away today?"

She rolled her eyes. "No, I wanted to show you the place."

"You show all your friends or is it just me?"

"Just you, Peter Parker," she said and smiled at him. The way she said his name struck something in him. "Just you."

She walked back to the car and slid in. Peter stared after her, confused and at the same time curious. He looked back at the sunset and wondered what had struck him more ─ this beautiful miracle of nature with endless shades of color, or Amelia. Glorious Amelia with her heart on fire. He had an inkling as to what his answer would be. He sat in the passenger seat again and didn't stop looking at her all the while they drove back.